Love & War
by veinsoffire
Summary: In an alternate universe lives a fallen angel. He's sarcastic, hates his boss, and has really had enough of this...shist. Here's how he deals with his frustration when faced with the undeserved(in his eyes) love from his brother(the annoyingly angelic archangel, Kim) and everyone else who dares to try.


A/N: **This is my first story EVER. I'm also posting it from my phone because the power is out and I don't wanna wait. Please review and lemme know what ya think, advice and criticism is welcome and greatly appreciated. Neither Fallen by Lauren Kate nor The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare belong to me and I gain nothing material by posting this. It's unbetaed(is that right?) So mistakes are my own. Please tell me if you spot something funky, which, believe me, you will. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Chapter 1**

Nick hated Sundays, he really, truly did. Everything bad that's ever happened to him happened on a Sunday. Well, since the current calendar system was invented anyway.

Really, nobody could blame him for snapping his plate in half and spilling a really saucy turkey sandwich on the kitchen floor.

He'd just been minding his own business, working the dud shift with his brother Kim, at the firehouse, when suddenly he felt a deep sense of foreboding, clawing at his gut and crawling up his spine like a cold, slimy worm. Knowing what he did about Sundays, his frustration made itself known in the form of a loud grunt and a heap of bread, turkey and salad dressing on the floor.

His brother shot him a look from where he was sitting at the lunch table, his arm pausing in front of his mouth so that his own sandwich was just hovering there. He looked ridiculous and Nick spared a second to ponder his brother's resemblance to a puppy, snorting mentally at the guy's unique ability to make his brain do weird shit in any given situation. The rest of the assembled firefighters and paramedics just stared at him, by now somewhat used to the siblings' various oddities.

He went down on his haunches in order to pick up the two pieces of useless ceramic, using them(haha) to scoop up the mess and threw it all in the trashcan. As he was hunting for a dishcloth, the back of his neck tingled, right where his devil's mark was situated, and he winced. He found what he was looking for and went back to wipe up the remainder of his lunch, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. He knew his brother's eyes were following the motion, so he knew they'd soon be having a talk when he exited the kitchen and made his way to the locker room.

They both knew his mark acting up could only mean one of two things; either he was being summoned, or a Prince of Hell was trespassing on their world. Since he wasn't due in Hell anytime soon, it could only be the latter, so sue him for being reasonably pissed off. He _loathed_ the Royal Family Of Hell, even though he used to be one of them; _especially_ because he used to be one of them, albeit very briefly and a very long time ago.

He got to his locker and started changing into his casual-but-not-really clothes, which consisted of tough, black dragon-hide pants, boots of the same material that laced up to mid-calf, a green t-shirt and a dragon-scale vest. He sat down to lace up the boots, mentally cataloging the weapons he had and whatever else he might have needed. He was skilled at most weapons, but he preferred dual swords or a double-bladed staff, which he would have to pick up at the apartment. All he had with him right then was a boot knife and some throwing daggers, all useless against a fallen angel and all tucked into their various loops and sheathes in his jacket, also made of dragon-hide. He wondered if he would have to take this to the High Council, or whether he could quietly take care of it on his own. The High Council was the government, so to speak. It consisted of the elected or otherwise leaders from each species, which included The Fae, elves, werecreatures, demigods, Nephilim, vampires, magical folk and of course, humans. They were in charge of keeping the peace, among many other things, and convened twice a year in the City of Sparta, where Nic lived.

He was hoping he wouldn't have to present to the council, they always fussed over every single detail and rarely got anything done if not heavily prompted by the handful of wise individuals that made up the intelligent portion of the council (read: the ones who don't lie if they can help it).

He'd just finished with his boots when Kim walked in and straddled the bench next to the one he was sitting on, and Nick's mind did yet another thing, only this time his brother's eyes were huge cartoonish question marks.

"What's going on?"

He considered lying, he was a demon after all, an incubus to be exact, the very first one to be even more exact, but he knew that Kim's wrath would have catastrophic effects on the planet in general should anything happen to his brother that could have been prevented. Lie or no, this particular situation could not.

"Someone's trespassing. I'm not sure who, where or why yet, but I'm headed to the apartment first to pick up my gear. Will you talk to the chief? Tell him we have a family emergency or some shit." It wouldn't be a lie.

Kim stayed quiet, but his eyes were saying enough. Nick squirmed a little under his brother's gaze; he could practically feel the concern and nervousness. He hated parting from his brother as much as Kim did, but he had to take care of this. There was nobody else suited for the job, not even the Nephilim were equipped to deal with fallen angels and most warlocks with any combative skills were too closely involved to be of any use.

Kim sighed, his reluctance to let Nic go alone written in the lines of his forehead.

"You sure you don't need me with you?"

Nic nodded, gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze and a pat as he rose and got his jacket from his locker, along with the hard-cased backpack that contained his personal medical kit, and his wallet, but he only took the wad of cash and his ID, tucked them into his left boot and gave the wallet itself to Kim. There were no reassuring smiles or comforting hugs, but they didn't need those things to know; Kim wouldn't be eating or sleeping until Nick got back and Nick wouldn't let an hour pass without letting his brother know that he was fine. Though his brother _did_ kick him in the ass on his way out, but that was because he was an asshole and wanted revenge for having to deal with Grenson, chief and commander of Firehouse 01 and the scariest human Nic's ever met that he didn't want to kill. Kim didn't really have to worry, the old guy had a troubling soft spot for his puppy-face, as did just about everyone else, and he could never really stay mad at them when they were his best Squad Lieutenant (Kim) and paramedic (hem hem) by far.

He jogged over onto the parking lot where his only steady lover was waiting, a Harley from the seventies that he didn't know anything about other than that; he'd never bothered learning to speak bike, just how to ride them and make them explode, which was his approach to pretty much everything, when he thought about it. He hopped on and let it roar, sending out some of his more complex senses to root out where his newest target was as he drove, hoping that it wouldn't be too far.

He should have known not to expect anything even remotely good on a Sunday.

 **8∞**

The first thing Nic did upon arriving home was to curse violently at the front door, and then again at himself for forgetting the keys. He glared balefully at the offending slab of wood, impassive and leaf green as always, for a few seconds and then stomped out of the building, going around it to the back, praying to any idiot willing to listen that the back garden gate wasn't locked. He could jump it if it was, but he was hesitant since he'd have to hoist himself up by its bars. It was rusty, with curls and little metal flowers, and it went well with the rest of their carefully maintained garden- which was overgrown with ivy with a few white rose bushes dotting it here and there, and then some lavender everywhere else. Kim loved their garden, naturally, as he did everything else green and growing, and Nic didn't want to see the sad little face he'd pull when he saw the broken heap of rust.

He arrived at the little gate and didn't bother to thank whatever idiot had been listening after all when it wasn't locked. He carefully opened it, entered the garden and then closed it with equal care. Then he sped up the little cobblestone path to the back door, which was locked, but there was a trick to the lock that he'd perfected long ago so he slipped easily into their little abode.

It was an old building and one of the few in the city not in the Greek or Roman style, with two stories; the lower consisting of the kitchen, the study and the parlor, and the top with their respective bedrooms and shared bathroom. All of their furniture was antique and slightly Victorian, in dark earthy colours with splashes of green and white here and there, and all of it, every single piece, was hanpicked by Kim from the plethora of storage spaces Nic had stashed all over the world and artfully restored. If you lived as long as they did, which is to say forever, you learned to preserve certain things, because everything else can be wiped out in the blink of an eye. Fire wasn't picky when it came to be, it spared no thought for whether you liked that chair or if you'd read that book yet, it just burned and moved on.

Nick flew up the wooden spiral stairs and towards his room, where he had all his weapons stashed in the roof above his bed(still unmade, Kim was gonna bitch for hours). He leaped onto the bed and carefully removed the huge poster depicting the sheet music for Clair deLune by Debussy, he put it to the side and ran his hands along the upward slanting cealing, feeling for the tiny catch that would open it. He finally found it and clambered up into the attic, where the roof itself was just high enough for him to stand up with his head bowed and set about arming himself appropriately for the trial ahead. First, he removed his jacket and checked that everything was in order with it, then he opened the nearest closet and took out his favored dual swords. They were black, and unlike most blades, didn't shine or gleam when struck by light; he'd made them himself a while ago, using hellfire and random alloys, and the hilts were plain but for the green dragon-hide he'd wrapped them in. They could also clip together to form a staff, which was why they were his favorites. He slung them cross-wise over his shoulders after donning his jacket once again. Next came his Greenwood bow, a gift from one of the elvish royals, and its accompanying quiver of arrows, which were in turn slung over the swords. He pulled on some elvish gloves, customized so they didn't hinder his aim when using the bow and redid his long black hair in a single braid, which was then twisted up into a knot and stuck through with a single pin so it wouldn't get tangled with the green feather fletches of the arrows. He sighed, annoyed that his slightly delicate facial features probably made him look like some exotic warrior princess from faraway lands.

Nic huffed one last time before making sure his medical kit was stocked to capacity and loosening the straps so it would fit over everything else already on his back, then he went out onto the balcony and did another scan, sending out tendrils of magic and feeling around for that unmistakably malevolent presence, something a tad more evil than a slight hint of demonic blood or a particularly powerful dark creature. Within minutes he found what he'd been looking for, but what he found made his annoyance level go up another six notches.

It was Asmodeus, and he was in the old clave headquarters in what used to be Idris, but was now just a barren stretch of earth, magically fenced off to keep the darkness at bay. Obviously the wards were working, because Asmodeus was still there and not in some major city wreaking havoc.

Either that or there was something more important happening in Idris itself.

The thought alone made Nic shudder.

 **8∞**

He needed to get to Idris, he needed to get there _yesterday_.

All over the world, in certain places, there were scars. Weakspots. Tears. Rips in the very fabric of reality. This was what made it possible for the horde of demons constantly hovering just at the edges of the world to filter through.

Nobody knew why or how, theories ranged from tragedies happening in those specific places to the horde being stronger there. Nic didn't care, the point was this; they were coming through, very little at a time and easily contained, but the fact that it was even _happening_ was upsetting enough.

The biggest rip was just over Africa, which, besides the mostly inhospitable climate, was the main reason nobody settled there. The very bottom tip of Africa was where the combined forces of the demigods, shadowhunters and some elves set up headquarters. They patrolled the coastal border around the continent and waged war daily. Someone died on a nearly weekly basis, but they had to do it. It was die fighting for the people you loved, or die in the jaws of whatever hellish creature had been able to grab you because nobody had cared enough to try and protect you.

The second biggest rip was just over the border between France and Germany, a place called Idris that the angel Raziel had gifted to his Nephilim children, or so the story goes. Nic didn't really believe the story the told the little shadowhunter kids, but nobody had anything better so he kept his mouth shut.

These days the entire area was a breeding ground for demons, nothing good lived or grew there, so roughly eight hundred years ago the council had elected to ward it off just like Africa, but because this area was so small in comparison, they decided they didn't have the warriors to spare, and so it was condemned and forgotten.

Until recently.

There were rumours that the late Valentino Di Angelo had used it as a refuge after having failed at exterminating the non-human council members. He'd been an extreme traditionalist who despised anything even remotely magical, and he'd even had a few followers. The story goes that the straw that had broken the camel's back had been his own sister, Alianna Di Angelo, marrying the head of the Romanov Organization, a group of highly trained spies, assassins, scientists etc descended from the Royal Family Of Russia, and they were the main source of cooperation between humans and the rest.

Valentino had seen this as the worst betrayal possible, so he set out to make the life of his sister and her new husband, Maximillo Cheznikov, a living hell. This included various devastating bombings, carefully selected assassinations and all out war.

The thing that had finally put an end to the chaos of five years had been a grossly terrible act of violence, an act so cruel and vile that it ultimately destroyed the victim.

Valentino had raped his own flesh and blood, his only remaning family member, his little sister, Alianna Cheznikova.

Maximillo had left his wife's side for but a moment during a home invasion, to retrieve their little girl of four, Vera, from the clutches of Valentino's hired muscle, and when he had returned to the panic room, his daughter in his arms, it was to find his wife unconscious on the floor, beaten and bloody.

Alianna survived, but allegedly committed suicide about a year later, and it was said that during this time, Valentino had feared for his life, enough so that he was willing to go where no sane person went, the barren womb of Idris.

Eventually, he came crawling a few years later. Maximillo found him within a few hours and the body was never found. Not that anyone went looking.

So yes, Nic needed to get the ASAP, because he knew, was just _certain_ , that Idris was haunted by more than just a horde of demons and some seriously shitty omens, and a prince of hell pitching there out of the blue was all the confirmation he needed.

So he opted for the fastest means of transportation available to him or anyone else; he summoned a dragon.

 **8∞**

His name was Legolas, he was the size of a schoolbus and had scales in various shades of green. He was impossibly sassy and spent more time bickering with Nic than he did flying. He was also one of Nic's oldest friends, as he'd been a gift from a certain Romanian countess just short of five hundred years ago. Nic had raised him from the day he hatched until the day he could finally hunt for his lazy-ass self, and they had remained frequent travelling companions, even though Nic had wings of his own. The thing was, Nic's weren't as big, so he couldn't fly as fast, something Legolas would never let him forget, so right now he was the perfect solution.

He was also a literal pain in the ass since they didn't have a saddle and Nic was in too much of a hurry to go looking for one. He simply sat in the nook right behind the dragon's shoulder blades-something all dragons had, no matter their size- and clung for all he was worth, cursing and occasionally screaming for the entirety of the ensuing twenty minutes of flying.

The dragon paused to hover just outside the wards of Idris, shooting Kim a slightly fearful look over his shoulder. The surrounding area looked bleak and haunted.

"You sure you wanna go in there, Boss? I ain't wearin' my armor or anythin'."

Nic scanned the horizon, he saw various dark shapes flitting about in the distance, but he knew they wouldn't be hostile towards him, as strange as it might have sounded. To them, he was just another demon. Monsters like the ones that lurked in Idris didn't have much mental capacity beyond identifying something they could kill and then probably eating it or keeping it alive for torture.

"Yeah, they won't attack us, and if they do, I'll waste em'. Just keep going, we're almost there." He patted Legolas' neck in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and went back to scanning the area with his magic. If what his senses were telling him was true, then Asmodeus was located where the old citadel used to be, smack dab in the middle of Idris. It was where the City Of Glass had been intended to be, before the demons had claimed it. Now it was a pile of pretty rubble surrounded by miles of grey death desert.

Nic suppressed the urge to whoop in a very sarcastic manner and went back to clinging onto his best friend's scales.

Legolas continued to fly for a few more minutes before the ruins became visible on the horizon, and now Nic could feel the tension building in the reptilian muscles beneath him. As they got closer, the monstrous demons that had up until then kept their distance started swarming around them, chittering, cackling and making all sorts of threatening sounds, yet none of them got any closer than a lazy stone's throw closer to the dragon and his rider. Legolas started to screech as they neared to roof of the old citadel, miraculously repaired for some reason, and even blasted some of the creatures with fire. They went down in flames, but their counterparts didn't seem angered by it. Nic didn't expect them to be, they had no sense of anything even close to friendship, or even strategy, considering that they were basically losing soldiers.

The dragon finally landed on the roof, his claws screeching on the roof shingles before he managed to get a foothold. The demons continued to circle them with no order whatsoever, and when it looked like Nic was about to dismount, the volume of their cries became unbearable. The incubus decided that he had finally had enough and set up a magical sound barrier, and then another one to keep the monsters away from Legolas while he was inside. So far they hadn't come any closer or made any seriously threatening moves, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He dismounted and slid down the roof, catching himself at the very edge. He leaned down as much as he could, listened; then promptly gave up on taking the stealthy approach. From what he could tell, there was some commotion going on inside, and he could pick up the stench of many recent deaths, a dozen or so, and the overwhelming scent of hell. So he decided to just swing down through one of the two large windows located conveniently right below him and go from there, hopefully nobody would throw a knife at him.

 **8∞**

His hope hadn't been in vain. There were no knives. Just an arrow.

But he was able to dodge that by jumping behind one of two flame-blackened thrones(he did _not_ remember those from when he had been here nearly a millennium ago) and from there was able to observe the room at large.

Asmodeus was there, right in the middle of the room, along with a group of shadowhunters, a vampire, a sickly looking warlock and a werewolf, all apparently struck with varying levels of some or other strong emotion. Then there was the dead, a dozen shadowhunter corpses clad in crimson. The one closest to Nic was a boy with white, almost silver hair, his top half cradled in the arms of the only adult shadowhunter present that hadn't died. She had vibrant red hair, green eyes almost as bright as his own and she was staring at him with an expression that seemed to be struggling to decide just what exactly it wanted to be. First there was surprise, then a reasonable amount of fear, and then her face smoothed itself into an expressionless mask.

Good, he didn't have the time nor the patience to deal with hysterical females. He glanced around again and- yep, everyone was now staring at him. There was another redheaded female, a haughty looking blonde male, an equally haughty looking brunette girl and another brunette, this one male, all shadowhunters. The werewolf looked to be middle aged and the warlock looked gay(Kim was gonna kick his ass later, because Nic could feel him hovering in the back of his head and he was a really nice bastard who didn't tolerate derogative terms of any kind.) Asmodeus was-unsurprisingly- glaring.

The other demon sneered, his face even uglier than usual beneath its crown of barbed wire. Nic reminded himself that he eventually had to tell the guy that his head looked like an egg.

"And just what precisely are _you_ doing here, _filth?_ "

"Oh? You mean to tell me that you _don't_ know that you're trespassing? That's some convenient memory loss right there, Asmodeus. If it wasn't such a lame talent, I'd be impressed." From the corner of his eye, Nic saw the warlock perk up, apparently interested in the conversation.

"Trespassing? How could that be when this is _my realm!?_ I know you know this _Nicolai_ , because I recall seeing you at the meeting where Edom was granted to me as reward for destroying it, or are you the one with memory problems?"

Nic snorted loudly and straightened from his crouch, stepping around the ruined throne and down the dais steps.

"That's what you're calling it these days? Edom? In honor of your hellwhore no doubt. Did you finally manage to get laid after seven thousand years of marriage?" He kept his posture deliberately relaxed, he didn't want to appear threatening to the shadowhunters. He suspected they were too shocked by the bickering demons in front of them to care much anyway.

Asmodeus was now fuming, clenching his fists at his sides like a toddler. He'd always been the more juvenile of the seven. Nic pressed his advantage.

"I'd heard that you'd acquired some real estate, but I didn't think you'd care about this miserable little scrap of shit. I geuss you didn't get laid then…your wife Edom has standards after all, doesn't she? Her bastard with Azazel should be evidence enough."

For a second there, Nic feared that he'd fucked up royally, because the next thing he knew, Asmodeus's face cleared of all emotion and his posture relaxed, but then he lunged at him, which is exactly what he'd been hoping for.

He swords were unsheathed and ready before Asmodeus had even begun moving, and he swung them with fatal precision, crossing his arms over each other at the elbow and using the opposing demon's own force against him as he moved his arms outwards again, all within the blink of an eye.

Asmodeus froze, his face didn't even have time to shift to an expression of shock before his head slid sideways and fell right off the blood spurting stump that used to be his neck. There was a squishy _thump_ as it hit the floor, a collective gasp from the other people in the room-the ones still breathing anyway- and the body, which had been in mid-step right in front of Nic, fell forward and into his waiting arms. He carelessly threw it aside and smirked at the shocked faces around him.

"Am I badass or _what?!_ "

 **A/N: I know. Its rough. Nic is Cam btw, Kim is an OC. And...well, can't remember what else I wanted to say. So yeah, thanks for reading!**


End file.
